She died in the same hour. Grief killed her with a touch!
XXXV.
Cantabrian maidens, sisters of the oar,
Mourn, mourn for her your Cynosure and pride.
Her star-like eye shall guide your chase no more,
Your glory fled from earth when Blanca died!
In vain your barks shall o’er the billows ride;
Her beauty gave the sunshine most ye miss.
So graceful ne’er again your fleet shall glide;
Nor waves your prows so joyously shall kiss.